Any other time, Hal would have been fascinated by what existed around her. How she could see her breath in small bursts of tiny clouds whenever she exhaled. The thick fog that coated the forest floor at higher elevations, the knotted and twisted branches of the trees that gave the place a dark and eerie feeling, and the thick foliage of the leaves that made it almost impossible for what little sunlight there was to get through. But such things did not spark the same level of joy or fascination they would have months before.
Instead, she kept her gaze steadily on Murtagh's back, wishing she could somehow stare him down into revealing his truth. She had hoped he would have tried to open up to her by now, even just a little. But he seemed even farther from her after abruptly announcing a few days ago that they would be packing up from their makeshift campsite and moving to a new location. He wouldn't say where or why, but Hal could see in his eyes and hear in his voice that it was something he needed, not to mention his eyes held an air of assurance for the first time in a while. So, she followed him without a word, leaning on her trust for him despite the unanswered questions.
As the days pressed forward, they headed deeper into the Spine, traversing an unspecified number of miles each day. Hal wasn't particularly fond of the walk, especially as it seemed to grow colder. But traveling on foot was, apparently, their only option — which Murtagh was reluctant to reveal why. Even Thorn trailed behind them after a while rather than fly above like he normally would. Although, as she was also reminded, it was even colder in the air, and Hal dared not think of what could happen to her and Murtagh under such circumstances. Even still, on the ground, her teeth would chatter against her will, and her jaw ached every time she tried to fight it. She was determined not to complain and push through the discomfort. Murtagh, seemed somewhat less affected by the weather, only his pink cheeks indicating he felt anything at all. However, his gait was always a few steps ahead of hers, and his gaze seemed even further ahead than that. Hal wondered what he was thinking about and could not remember the last time she simply hadn't known what was on his mind. It was unnerving and disheartening.
After several days of near-constant travel, they reached an unexpected destination in a vast clearing. They were so deep within the Spine that Hal was pretty confident that not even she could find her way out even if she simply retraced their steps. As little as she had noticed the entirety of walking through the forest, she found that her attention was now otherwise easily preoccupied at the expansive building before her, her mouth hanging open. The area around them seemed like it was in the middle of a resurgence, as the trees here were thin and small, a stark contrast to the towering elms and oaks beyond. It was open, the land having been cultivated for the construction before them. Although it was perhaps only a few acres or so, Hal still felt terribly exposed as they drew near the front gate. However, this was the first direct view of the sky since arriving in the Spine, and she realized then how claustrophobic the woods had felt prior to this moment.
"Murtagh, what is this place?"
When they finally stopped walking, Hal craned her neck to look around them. They stood in an expansive cobbled courtyard. The stone steps of the manor were before them, the building itself massive and foreboding as it towered above them. Hal glanced over at Murtagh when he didn't immediately respond, seeing that his jaw was tightly clenched, his gaze trembling with emotion. Hal turned to look back at Thorn before staring back at the structure before them.
It was a grand-looking estate, made entirely of dull, grey stone that looked about as cheery as the Spine itself. But she couldn't deny that there was an elegance to its carefully crafted nature. It was at least four, perhaps five, stories tall, the windows covered in a layer of grime and dust from years of neglect. Even the exterior walls were hidden behind moss and vines, the front lawn unkempt as nature tried to reclaim the forgotten property. As her eyes traveled higher up, she saw that the roof of the building was capped with a sloped ceiling, multiple chimneys and spires protruding from the top.
The front door seemed unguarded — in fact, the place appeared completely abandoned for not a soul had approached them — and Hal stepped forward out of curiosity before Murtagh grabbed her firmly by her wrist. "Wait, it might be trapped."
Hal shivered, tightening her cloak around her shoulders. "Why would it be trapped?" Silence. "Murtagh, will you please tell me where we are?"
In his eyes she could see a deep sadness, different from what she had seen the last few weeks. There was an anger in his gaze, regret even.
But also, there was longing.
It became clear to her that he was dealing with too many emotions to articulate himself properly, and she held her tongue as he gathered himself. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to wrap the blanket over herself a hundred times over and debated moving to stand beside Thorn, although she did not want to walk away from Murtagh either. He looked down at her and his expression temporarily shifted to one of concern. "You're freezing."
He said it more to himself than to her, she noticed. Still, she responded, "I'm more worried about you at the moment."
His smile was soft, and all she wanted was to know the right thing to say or do so that his smile might reach his eyes once more. Instead, she watched as he battled with himself for a moment, before finally glancing back at the building with determination, like he had finally made up his mind. Hal placed a hand on Murtagh's arm. She waited patiently, and he looked like it would kill him to talk to her. But he sighed and lowered his head. "I grew up in this house. At least I did, until my parents died. This property belonged to Morzan. Although now, I suppose, it technically belongs to me."
Hal's head snapped back to the structure in surprise as Murtagh continued talking. "I understand if you don't want to stay here. I just…I didn't know where else to go. And Morzan had spells, powerful ones, that kept this place hidden. Not even Galbatorix knew of its precise location. It's one of the reasons we couldn't fly in: Morzan had wards placed extensively around the land so that no one could simply fly in without proper clearance from him first, and I couldn't remember how far they extended. You would be safe here. Not to mention, we would have proper shelter out of the elements."
Hal's gaze shifted back to Murtagh, stunned. "I don't understand." But she didn't quite know what it was that left her so befuddled. Except for the revelation that this place was built by the first and last of the Forsworn. She couldn't think straight with that preoccupying so much of her thoughts at the moment.
He took another deep breath. "You know the dreams I've been having? The nightmares?" Hal nodded. "They were of the day my mother died. And she died here, in this house. They eventually reminded me that this place existed, and that we could use it to our benefit."
Hal breathed in understanding but knew now was not the best time to confront his dreams. She could see he was in enough disarray at the moment. "Why would you not want to tell me where we were going? Did you think I would react poorly?"
Murtagh shook his head. "You are practical, I knew you would understand. I just…I didn't want to bring you to this place. And saying it out loud…I wasn't ready to face the reality of our situation. But we are desperate, and I didn't know where else to go."
Considering he didn't even want her holding Zar'roc, his answer didn't quite surprise her. She cupped his cheek and turned his gaze so that he would look at her and see that she was not upset or bothered. "Are you going to be okay with this? I'll not compromise your peace of mind any further for a stone house. And do not lie to me," she warned him in a low tone.
His expression was pained. "I just need you to be safe. So long as this place does just that, then I will be content."
Hal knew this was the real reason he didn't want her to know. Because now she was debating if, perhaps, they should leave after all. Just standing here seemed to leave him feeling stressed. Hal could only imagine the memories that would come rushing forward once he walked in. It was for that reason she had not been able to step inside her childhood home back on Uden. And she'd had happy memories of that place until the very end.
They stood outside for a few more minutes before Murtagh began to walk towards the building. He gestured for Hal to wait beside Thorn first. "Even though he's long dead, I would not put it past my father to still have traps set up. Especially if someone who is not kin were to enter."
She nodded, but quickly reached out to take his hand. He paused, looking back at her expectantly. "Please, be careful."
Something in his gaze shifted, but she couldn't quite read it. He nodded resolutely, lifting her hand to his mouth, his lips brushing against her fingers before he released her, turning and heading towards the front doors.
Hal waited with a patient hand on Thorn's side, the dragon nuzzling her cheek until she finally smiled, letting him know she was okay. She glanced back at the estate, unable to picture something more charming and homey than what was left of it now. Do you think it wise to be here? I'm worried that perhaps now is not the best time. Not with all that is clearly going on in his mind.
I cannot say for certain, Thorn admitted, his tone just as wary with concern as Hal's, but I will say — if you'll not repeat it — that this is all he is thinking about: the best possible way to keep you safe. And you know that once his mind is made up…
Aye, Hal agreed, less comforted by Thorn's reveal than she would have expected. Yet, it explained so much too. I will not say a word to Murtagh, but thank you for being honest with me. I just worry.
As do I. Murtagh knows this. He will come around again. His love for you runs deeper than his stubbornness.
Hal could not help but chuckle, even if it made her ache to do so. Thorn's sentiment still meant much to hear and helped to ease the tightness in her chest some. She was glad, relieved really, that through it all, Murtagh and Thorn had such a bond. It frightened her to think, but she was not confident that she could help Murtagh on her own. She wasn't doing so well at the moment with Thorn's help.
Murtagh didn't come back out, and Hal stood there for half-an-hour before Thorn touched her mind again. He said it's safe for you to come in.
Hal nodded. "Will you be all right out here? I hate the thought of leaving you alone."
Thorn made a low sound, almost like a purr, in appreciation for her concern for him. I will be fine. Morzan has an alcove behind his estate that Murtagh has already told me about. I will remain there.
All right then, if you're sure.
She smiled sadly at him before walking slowly towards the building, feeling a bit of apprehension herself. She climbed the front steps, pushing open the cracked door, wincing as it groaned loudly, echoing around in the empty chamber before she closed it behind her.
The first thing that struck her was the smell, like something had died in the house. She winced, covering her nose with her blanket as she looked around her. Standing in just the main foyer, she could already see that it was once a lavish home. But time and abandonment had not been kind to it. Even the stone itself seemed weathered and old. The size of it made the still silence seem almost torturous. Hal shivered again, trying to keep her steps quiet, yet they echoed softly off the marble floors and bounced off the high ceilings. Three high archways, flanked by columns on either side, led her to the main chamber, and she passed silently through the open, glass doors.
The entrance hall was a massive space, with multiple entry points to various parts of the estate. Immediately to her left was spiral, stone staircase, which wrapped around a massive, wrought-iron chandelier that extended all the way up to the ceiling four stories above. It was almost dizzying to stand underneath and look up, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization of how immense this place must be. It could take days to properly explore.
She looked back at the main hall, eyes wandering over the stone arches and columns, the domed glass ceiling, and the doorways that led to other rooms and hallways. But she wanted to find Murtagh first, and something told her to climb the steps to the second landing. She walked past a common area, the furniture covered in white sheets, empty frames with no paintings in them still hanging on the walls. It was eerie, and Hal felt a chill that had nothing to do with how cold she was.
Past the common area and around the corner, Hal walked down a hallway, her footsteps muffled on the runner that trailed the length of the corridor. She turned a corner and found herself standing in what was obviously a bedroom. It was large and circular, with tall windows that helped bring in a bit of natural light. There was a canopy bed on an elevated platform, and much of the furniture was covered like what Hal had seen in the common space. Chairs, a settee, and a vanity, not to mention a separate bathing room and closet that appeared to be curtained off.
Hal exited the room and found herself in another common space, somewhat smaller in scale, that connected her rather intimately to another bedroom. She walked to Murtagh, who was standing beside the bed, arms crossed, and staring at the painting above the fireplace.
Hal stood beside him as she gazed up at the piece of art. In it was Morzan, standing tall and proud in his armor, as though he had just come from battle. He had his hand on the pommel of Zar'roc, which was strapped to his side. Hal was enchanted by and afraid of the blue and black of each of his eyes, the malice present, even in the rendering itself. Yet some of the features were so much like Murtagh it was hard to be afraid: the square jaw, high-cheekbones, and quizzical brow. Even she had to admit that despite his ugly behavior, Morzan had been quite handsome.
Sitting in the chair beside him was Selena. Hal breathed deeply, her heart hurting at what remained of what had once been a beautiful woman. And there was no doubt about it — even in the painting, Selena was beautiful. In her eyes, Hal saw Murtagh. The shape, the grey — Murtagh had every bit of his mother in them. However, the likeness ended there, except perhaps the dark brown hair, Selena's pinned up in a very neat bun. She had a slender frame and petite mouth, as if she were pressing her lips together in disdain. Whenever this painting had been done, she was no longer in love with Morzan. If anything, she looked like a woman who hadn't really liked herself all that much either.
Hal looked up at Murtagh and was pained to see he was crying. His eyes were a mix of sorrow and contempt. The whys and the what ifs that he would never know. Why had his father been so cruel? What had his mother seen in him? Why had she not sought to save Murtagh? Did she ever love him? Would it be better if she hadn't? Hal could read every question in his eyes, had heard them all before in their conversations, and hated that she had none of the answers.
Hal turned back to the painting and took a step forward, tilting her head as if Selena were real and Hal could read her like she would anyone else. There was such anguish there. Such misery. Selena had come to realize her mistake. The painting immortalized a woman who knew she had made a mistake.
Eragon's father, Brom, had seen enough good in her that he had loved her. Murtagh said once that even Eragon made peace with his mother knowing she had, at least, died on the right side of history. Hal refused to believe that a woman who could break free from Morzan would ever intentionally abandon Murtagh. She obviously could not have given birth to Eragon here. Morzan would have killed her, and probably the infant. Leaving was the right choice. And perhaps she thought, when she returned, she would be able to collect Murtagh and leave with him as well. But she had died before she could. Because why else had Selena returned to this wretched place after having escaped it, if not for her son?
Hal knew that that probably haunted Selena as well. Just as it had haunted Hal's mother, that she had not been able to save Thea. No. No decent parent would be satisfied having only been able to save one child. Hal refused to believe that Selena had left Murtagh behind on purpose.
Your son is a greater man than his father, Hal told the cold, unseeing eyes. And if you abandoned him because of who you chose to lay with, then he is better than you as well.
Hal forced herself to look away, feeling her own rage, her own protectiveness of Murtagh, fuel her tears. But she did not want to cry. This moment was not about her or her feelings. It was about Murtagh. She turned back towards him, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it gently. "Come on, Murtagh. Let's find a spot to rest. We've been traveling for miles, I'm sure you're tired."
He gave her a knowing look, seeing right through her ruse. "I think I need a few more minutes to gather my thoughts. If that's all right?"
She did not want him to wallow in any sort of inferiority, so his response didn't exactly thrill her. But she nodded and said, "Of course it is. Do you wish to be alone?"
He didn't quite meet her gaze. "If you don't mind…"
She gave him a sad smile. "You know I don't. Take all the time you need." She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Then she turned and walked out of the room, feeling miserable and angry the longer he stood there.
Needing to keep herself busy, Hal did the only thing she could think to do and decided to continue to explore the interior. She quickly realized that there was not much else to the second floor except for a few small closets and private offices, some of which were locked, so she took the central staircase to the third floor and quickly found a series of bedrooms that were much smaller than the two on the second floor, but faded décor and designs still gave them a sense of elegance. It was only a hunch, but Hal had figured that the second floor rooms belonged to Morzan and Selena, so the third floor had to be for important guests…although Morzan didn't strike her as the type to have any.
Bathrooms, parlors, hidden servant staircases, and more. Hal felt like she was in the middle of a storybook setting. And while she had always known that Murtagh came from a sort of privileged background, she felt wildly out of place as she ran her fingers over delicate vases and intricately cut wood pieces so well carved that they did not splinter even after all this time without care. This was certainly far removed from anything she had ever imagined possible for another human being. Truthfully, until now, Hal had never really had a concept of wealth or money. But Morzan clearly was a man of refined tastes, and Hal had to laugh at how wildly opposite Murtagh was by comparison.
By the time she reached the fourth floor, Hal found a few, more simply made bedrooms that seemed too plain to be for anyone of significance, and so she gathered they were simply spares. The windows were smaller, and there was no common space on this floor. Hal went into a few, looking to see if there were any clues that might reveal what these rooms had been used for. Perhaps servants or maids, assuming they had been allowed to stay in the house.
As she reached the last, smallest room, moving the furniture around to see if anything had been left behind, something gave her pause. She tried to peer at the space between the bed and the wall but couldn't quite tell what she was looking at. Curious, she got on the ground and slid underneath, a tight space even for her narrow shoulders.
When Hal realized what she was looking at, she unexpectedly burst into tears, covering her mouth with her hand. She hardly noticed when her flinch of surprise caused her to bump her head against the bottom of the bed frame. She felt ridiculous for being so emotional. But she didn't know what else to do but just lay there and cry. Better here than somewhere Murtagh could see.
Scratched into the wall, likely by a knife, were various attempts at wildlife. Birds, flowers, trees, and bears. Childlike. Hal realized then that she had not seen a bedroom for Murtagh in the entire space. He had been forced into a room furthest from his father and mother, and nothing about it stood out from the rooms of the servants. She only wondered how many times he had crawled under this bed, and how long he had stayed there, until he felt it safe to come out again.
…
By the time Hal had calmed down and gotten herself together, Murtagh had not come out of the room. Feeling even more uneasy having found what she had, Hal felt less inclined to wander about aimlessly. This house was heartbreak and misery, and it felt wrong to traverse through its halls knowing what she did. However, in the meantime, she didn't know what to do with herself as she went back to the first floor, hoping to find a spot to gather her thoughts while she waited for Murtagh.
She walked through the entrance hall, peering up at the multifaced, glass dome above her head as she went. Despite how much of a bastard he was, Morzan had designed an estate with eye-catching attention to detail. It almost seemed bizarre that a man such as he was capable of such a thing. If the original splendor of the manor was ever restored, it would truly be a sight to behold.
The first room to the right of the hall was, interestingly enough, a banquet room. A table big enough for at least thirty situated in the center, a fireplace to the left so wide and tall that Hal could have easily fit in it. It felt excessive, a running theme she was beginning to notice throughout. But just as quickly as she thought it a waste to have a table that large, she thought it would be rather nice to have something similar back home.
Her jaw dropped when she entered a second room. At first, it seemed like another common space, a long hallway with tables and cushioned chairs carefully placed around three fireplaces. However, that's not what had caught her amazement. Hanging from the wall was a detailed tapestry that was a full map of Alagaësia. And not just the mainland as Hal had known it. It included territory that spread north of Du Weldenvarden and east of the Hadarac. Hal had never seen a map that indicated what lay beyond those borders; and yet, Morzan had it spread out across an entire wall in what would have been in plain view for any to see.
Hal took a few steps back towards the windows, her eyes drinking in the well-done needlework that brought the country to such vivid life. Forests were indicated with deep greens, the desert with hues of brown and gold, the plains with yellows, and the mountains purple. It was stunning, Hal couldn't even pretend otherwise.
She heard footsteps approach and turned her head as Murtagh came to a standstill in the doorway, hands behind his back, his expression sheepish. He followed her bewildered gaze and his expression softened a bit. "I loved coming in here as a boy. I would sit in one of these chairs by the fire and read. Of course, Morzan hated me being in any part of the house where he was forced to acknowledge my existence, so I only dared come here when he was away."
Hal didn't know what to say to that at first, but his expression was open and patient. He knew she was bound to have questions. "I found your room," she stated, her voice low as though anyone else were around to overhear. "At least, I assume those were your carvings on the wall. I didn't get the impression there were other children around here."
He bowed his head as if he had something to be ashamed of. "You know I've always had a hard time finding it in myself to love or forgive my mother. Seeing her picture again…being here again. I felt the same surge of anger towards her. And I was so surprised because I thought I had moved past that already."
He walked towards the tapestry, keeping his eyes on almost anything but Hal, which unnerved her a bit. Like he was hiding his face from here, as if this was his shame to carry. She didn't speak. She let him say what he needed to say, even if she'd heard it before. She never took her eyes off him, her throat tight at the pain in his voice as he spoke.
"I'd hated her for so long, it was just this knee-jerk reaction to feel that way again. All of my rage always came back to her. I've long since decided that I hated my father. But my mother? My feelings for her were always harder to grasp. I knew my father didn't care for me, but what about her? Did she think I had no future because I was his son? Is that why Eragon was spared and not I? I'll never know…and I hated her for that."
He finally stopped in front of the empty fireplace, staring at it a bit before he turned to face Hal. His eyes were bloodshot from crying, but they were sharp with focus now. "And then I remembered something Denu told me."
She grew still, her throat growing unbearably tight. She knew they needed to talk about him at some point. Before she could decide if she was ready, Murtagh pressed forward as if having the same thought himself.
"He once told me that he believed everything happened for a reason. That obstacles and people are put in our lives so that when we find out where we're supposed to be, we can appreciate it all the more. The right people, the good moments, are all the more special because we have known bad people and bad moments."
Hal hated herself for it, but a sob burst forth from her throat at how familiar those words were. She could hear Denu saying them, that quiet, reflective tone of his soothing her as he spoke. It was like a gut punch all over again. Realizing she would never hear any new advice from him, never take comfort in his presence. All she would have of him were his memories, what she and Murtagh and others could piece together. But how long until even those began to fade with the passage of time?
Murtagh rushed towards her, stricken by her crying. "Oh, Hal, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."
She shook her head. "No, you didn't. I just…I keep forgetting how much I'll miss him. And when I remember, it's like I've lost him all over again."
Murtagh's shoulders deflated, but he nodded in understanding. "I keep wondering what he would do. What he would say in certain moments." Hal sniffed. "We don't have to talk about him, if you're not ready."
She quickly shook her head. "That's not what I want, though. I do want to talk about him. I want to remember him as he was, not how he died. And if I don't talk about him, he'll become like my mother. I heard her voice in my head for months and didn't even recognize it anymore. I don't want him to fade from my memoires like that."
He tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. "I'd like to talk about him too, iet dunei."
She smiled, grateful, before blushing as she hurried to wipe her face. "I'm sorry, I interrupted you. What were you saying before this?"
He shook his head dismissively, and instead said, "Nothing important. Except that I love you. And I am grateful to you."
She knew there was more on his mind, more that they had yet to discuss. But she couldn't help but swell with joy when he said those three simple words. While recognizing that it's ridiculous to allow herself to be placated, she can't make herself push him any further right now. Not when it's so apparent that being in his father's estate has him so unnerved. Especially seeing as how he's only doing this for her.
"I love you too," she responded. "And heaven knows that I am grateful to you. For everything."
He kissed her forehead before glancing at the space around the room. "It's strange. Being so young when I was last in the house…everything seemed so big."
"Ah, yes. I too feel a bit cramped here."
Murtagh snorted. "It is a bit excessive."
"Perhaps," Hal agreed, "but maybe that's because it requires the right touch." She ran a finger along a windowpane and shuddered at the amount of dust that coated it. "And perhaps a good wash." She wiped her finger on her already filthy skirts.
Murtagh made a low noise of agreement, but his voice sounded distant and Hal turned to look at him. He was staring straight ahead, and said, "I want to show you something," before pulling her along towards the set of doors on the opposite end. The noise they made when Murtagh pushed them open was thunderous, and Hal flinched as the hinges squeaked and the wood moaned as if pained by the sudden weight exerted upon it. But when she saw what was inside, she knew she had found her favorite room in the house.
She stepped inside a massive library that was two stories tall with a narrow balcony above. And the fireplace! It was even larger than the one in the Banquet Hall. The detailing on it was exquisite, and the windows along the back wall brought about a brightness to the room that seemed lacking throughout the rest of the house, providing a perfect view of the woods and mountains beyond. The ceiling was painted like an afternoon sky, a soft blue with fading clouds. Flying through them was a blood red dragon Hal almost mistook for Thorn before she quickly remembered that this would have been done before he was born. It was such a small thing, but the image was such a contrast with what Hal would have expected of Morzan.
"There's probably thousands of books here," Murtagh said, coming to stand beside her, besotted by the awe in Hal's expression. It was exactly the kind of reaction he had been hoping for. The kind to lift his spirits considerably. "But this library was built to hold so much more. I'd imagine your sketchbooks would look perfect on these shelves. If you ever wanted to move them here."
Hal's general excitement at the splendor before her gave way to something else. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on just yet. She turned to look at him, momentarily caught off guard. "Wait…truly?"
"It's just a suggestion," he said quickly, his cheeks turning a dazzling shade of pink that made Hal smile. "Amon mentioned having a place of storage for your items, but it just dawned on me that you could keep them here. They would be well protected, and…" Now his face was bright red, and Hal stared, now more enthralled by the spectacle before her than the room itself. A nervous Murtagh was a rare sight, and she was easily smitten with it.
"And…?" she prompted gently.
He cleared his throat, suddenly looking away from her. "And…just seeing you here already makes this place feel more like a home than it ever has for me. I just thought it would be nice…to not lose that."
It took Hal a moment to realize that she'd forgotten to breathe, and she inhaled sharply as if snapped out of a reverie. Murtagh turned back to watch her carefully, his smile widening as Hal visibly struggled to find the words to express herself.
Instead, he ducked his head down and kissed her. It was slow at first, as if he were waiting to gauge her reaction. Hal responded to his touch, stepping in closer, her body and mouth pressed to his. He took the encouragement, deepening the kiss. One hand gently graced her throat, her pulse thrumming madly, while his other hand gripped her hip, pulling her into him. She had forgotten what it was like to want him, to want the comfort of his touch. They had not kissed like this since they left home. There was something needy in the way his mouth commanded hers, and she was caught off guard by how much she felt it throughout her entire body.
Murtagh gently pulled away, planting sweet and tender kisses on her lips as if to ease the ache of their separation. They were both panting as Murtagh pressed his forehead to hers, and his gaze made her dizzy with emotion.
"I'm glad you are here," he admitted. "It's hard being back, after all this time. But I feel better, safer, knowing you're by my side."
Hal cupped his cheeks, her heart swollen with emotion as she gazed up at him. "I cannot ease the pain and the trauma of the boy who once lived in this house. But I can tell the man that he has become that I will never hurt him. That I will do everything in my power to make sure that he knows that he is loved beyond measure and protected at all costs. I will always stand by yours side, rider. And I will always have your back."